


The Coincidence Core

by Thursday_Next



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Community: reel_merlin, Crack, Destruction of Earth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thursday_Next/pseuds/Thursday_Next
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his best friend Merlin tells him that contrary to what he has always claimed, he's actually from a small planet in the vicinity of a star named Ascetir, Arthur takes it surprisingly well. But then his planet explodes, he's plagued by coincidences and he can't get a decent cup of coffee anywhere in the galaxy.</p><p>A <i>Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coincidence Core

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [reel_merlin](http://reel-merlin.livejournal.com/) round 5, movie prompt: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. One small scene taken from [this kmm prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/32553.html?thread=34436649#t34436649)
> 
> Mind the crack.

To say that today hadn't been a very good day for Arthur would be an understatement, along the lines of saying space was quite big. It had in fact been a _shocking_ day, starting with burning his toast in the morning and progressing to discovering his fiancée in bed with her yoga instructor, via an unfortunate incident with the office photocopier and a malevolent pigeon stealing his lunchtime baguette. 

Which explained why he was in the pub on a Thursday night, allowing his best friend Merlin to ply him with cocktails which tasted so alcoholic that Arthur was surprised they were even legal.

It also explained why there was no flailing in disbelief or mocking laughter on Arthur's part when said best friend turned to him and told him quite seriously that contrary to what he had always claimed, he was actually from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of a star named Ascetir.

"It's called Ealdor," Merlin explained, hands flapping in a vaguely apologetic gesture. "It's really quite nice. There's lots of trees, and there's this pink drink..."

"Oh," said Arthur, taking another sip of his cocktail. "That explains a lot, actually." He'd always known there was _something_ about Merlin. "The ears, for one thing."

"Hey!" Merlin said indignantly, covering the offending appendages. 

"And your name. Only a being from another planet would consider 'Merlin' a suitable name for an Englishman in the 21st century. Do you even have a last name?"

"There's nothing wrong with my name."

"And the accent." Arthur gestured at him accusingly. "I knew you weren't from Wessex."

"There's nothing wrong with my accent!" Merlin protested. "I'll have you know I've got the latest in regionally specific dialogue translation technology."

"In fact," Arthur continued, not paying him the least bit of attention. "I'm not sure there even is such a place as Wessex."

"Ah, well, that's sort of what I've been trying to tell you," Merlin said, looking a little sheepish. "There's not going to be a Wessex, or a Sussex, or an Essex or a... Nessex, at all, not for much longer."

"What are you babbling about?" Arthur demanded. 

"Your planet, Arthur. It's going to be destroyed."

"Merlin, I've had a long day. I'm not sure I can be doing with all this Greenpeace environmental bullshit just now. If I promise to buy energy saving light bulbs tomorrow, will you let it drop?"

"It's going to be destroyed _soon_. As in, probably by tomorrow lunchtime." Merlin swiped one hand across his forehead. Arthur scowled at the mention of lunchtime, remembering his stolen baguette.

"So what are you saying? We need to... I don't know, save the world, or something?" He gestured expansively with his glass, pink liquid sloshing over the rim. Merlin looked at it nervously.

"Oh no," he said, "It's far too late for that."

"Right."

"But it's OK," Merlin said, "I think I've found us a way off."

"Off?"

"Yes. We can get a lift. Probably." Merlin proceeded to explain the process of getting a lift, which seemed a good deal more complicated than walking along the slip road with a cardboard sign saying "Ealdor" and a liberated numberplate. Arthur found his attention wandering a little as Merlin babbled on about body mass and particles and quantum... something or other, focusing instead on the odd shapes Merlin's fingers made as he gestured unconsciously. He had long fingers, Arthur noted, for the first time considering the practical aspects of having alien physiognomy. 

"So for this trans-thingummy-whateveritis to work, we need higher levels of alcohol in our bloodstream, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh no," Merlin said, "I just thought you'd be less likely to tell me to sod off if I got you pissed first."

"Ah," said Arthur, chin slumping onto his folded arms. 

"Cheer up, mate," the bartender said as he collected their spent glasses. "It's not the end of the world."

"Well, actually," Merlin began, and Arthur kicked him sharply under the table.

 

Arthur woke up with a blinding hangover. There had been cocktails somewhere in his recent past, that much was evident. From there his brain made the logical leap – well, more of a sluggish crawl than an actual leap, really – that Merlin had probably had something to do with it. Arthur remembered leaving the pub. He remembered being drunk and vaguely maudlin on the way home. He remembered Merlin taking his keys off him and opening the door because he was too inebriated to manage it himself. He did not remember getting into his favourite pair of striped blue pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown, which meant there was a good chance Merlin had had to do that for him as well, and Arthur wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Especially since, yes, he definitely wasn't wearing anything _underneath_ the pyjamas. 

This was a secondary concern, however, to the main issue which was the relentless pounding and crunching sound in his head. 

"Oh God," he groaned, without opening his eyes. "What is that _noise_?"

"It's alright," said a voice far too close and far too cheerful, "It's just your planet being destroyed."

Arthur's first thought was to wonder what Merlin was doing in bed with him. His second thought was to wonder since when his bed had been so lumpy and metallic. His third was _oh fuck, my planet's being destroyed._

"Oh fuck, my planet's being destroyed," he said, sitting bolt upright and rubbing his eyes. 

"Humans really are a slow species," Merlin observed. "Well, not like I didn't know that already. You still think the ipad is a clever invention. It's not your fault," he continued in what was probably intended to be a placating voice, "You're just not all that highly evolved."

"Where are we?" Arthur demanded, glaring at him.

"The hull of a space ship." Merlin beamed at him. "We were pretty lucky, to get picked up. A million to one shot, really."

"Really? You sounded a lot more confident about our chances last night."

"Well, I didn't want you to worry."

"My fiancée cheated on me, my best friend's an alien from another planet and now my planet's been destroyed. What could I possibly have to worry about?"

"That's the spirit," Merlin smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I need a coffee," Arthur groaned.

"There's a Starbucks on Betelgeuse," Merlin said, "When we get out of this holding area, I'll ask the captain if he'll drop us off. It's not far from Earth. Only a few hundred lightyears or so. Hard to be precise. Galactic cartography is a developing field."

"There's a Starbucks. On Betelgeuse." Arthur echoed incredulously.

"Well, yes. They've expanded into just about every corner of the galaxy. I mean, even Earth had them."

"But – isn't Starbucks an Earth franchise?"

"I think the clue is in the name, don't you?" Merlin said, somewhat witheringly. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in despair. "And after we've had coffee – and bagels, you haven't lived until you've tried Betelgeuse bagels – we'll go to my home planet. You can meet my mum. I've told her all about you."

"How have you told her? What do you – do you _phone home_?"

"Well, no, not really, your Earth satellite technology isn't very advanced. But I send postcards."

"I'm not even going to ask how that works."

"Well –"

"I said I'm not even going to ask, Merlin. What were you doing on Earth, anyhow?"

"Research."

"What kind of research?"

"For this." Merlin reached under his neckerchief and brought out what looked like a small e-reader. "It's a sort of galactic travel guide. Like Lonely Planet. Only, you know, more than one planet."

" _Don't Panic_ ," Arthur read. "Good advice. So... is there an entry in here about Earth? Is that what you were researching?"

"Um, not exactly. I work on the graphic design team."

"Graphic design?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I came up with a new cover. It's brilliant, look." Merlin pressed a button and the _Don't Panic_ was replaced with _Keep Calm and Carry On_.

"That's it?" Arthur could feel a helpless anger throbbing in his temples, " _Keep calm and bloody carry on_? That's all that's left of Earth, is it?"

"Well, not everything," Merlin said, sounding a little affronted as he slipped the e-reader back in his pocket. "There's you, isn't there?"

"Yes," Arthur said, sliding back down to the floor and grabbing a fistful of his own hair in frustration. "There is."

"Arthur, I really think you should –"

"Merlin," Arthur said, one hand over his eyes and the other held up in a warning gesture, "If the next five words out of your mouth are 'keep calm and carry on', I swear to you I will throttle you with that bloody neckerchief. Is that clear?"

"Speaking of which," Merlin asked breezily, entirely unconcerned by Arthur's threat of imminent strangulation, "Where's yours?"

"Where's my what? In case you hadn't noticed, my pretty-much-everything has been destroyed, along with the rest of the bloody planet."

"Your neckerchief. All good hitchhikers should have a neckerchief, you know. It's a really multi-purpose item. Fashion, warmth, disguise..."

"Disguise as what? A space cowboy?"

Before Merlin could answer there was a sudden whistling noise, and the door to the compartment slid open with a soft swoosh. In the doorway stood a tall man, with flat brown hair and oddly shiny skin wearing, Arthur couldn't help but notice, a red neckerchief.

"Good morning sirs. My name is George and it would be my absolute pleasure to escort you to the bridge." He bowed low and made a gesture to suggest that they accompany him. Arthur looked over at Merlin who mouthed _android_ at him, which explained the scraping and the slightly plasticky look to his skin -- although not, perhaps, the neckerchief.

They followed George along what seemed like endless rows of pristine white corridors with oddly shining brass handrails. 

"Here we are sirs," George said at last, pausing in front of a doorway which looked virtually indistinct from the hundred or so they had seen already. "May I say what an honour it has been serving you today. I do hope you have a _wonderful_ day."

"Um, thanks, George, you too," Merlin said with an awkward little wave as Arthur only stared at the android. George seemed to glow under this expression of appreciation, beaming almost manically as he opened the doors for them and stood aside to let them walk through.

 

Arthur wasn't sure what he was expecting when he stepped over the threshold onto the 'bridge'. He had, after all, never been on any kind of spacecraft before, and his preconceptions of alien life and space travel had more or less been blown out of the water by everything that he had seen or heard since yesterday afternoon. 

If he had had any expectations, though, they probably would not have included Merlin giving a cry of delighted surprise and flinging his arms around a man with long hair and stubble with the general appearance of being something along the lines of a space pirate. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Arthur couldn't quite work out what, until Merlin unhanded the stranger and span around, grinning.

"You'll never believe it, Arthur, this is –"

"Gwaine," Arthur completed for him, the memory slotting into space. Merlin gave him a quizzical sort of look. 

"You've met before?"

"About a year ago," Arthur said. "I was out with Guinevere. It was the night I was going to propose, actually. Then he showed up and tried to hit on her with his 'hey babe, I'm from another planet, I can do things with my tongue that will make you see stars' thing." He glared at Gwaine, who didn't even have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 

"Oh," said Merlin, a faint flush covering his cheeks. "Well, that is certainly true. The tongue thing, I mean. He's from Caerleon, in the outer arm of the galaxy. They're descended from lizards. It's really quite extraordinary." He paused just long enough for Arthur to gape at him and try to frantically erase the unwanted images of exactly how Merlin might be intimately acquainted with Gwaine's tongue. "Wait," Merlin said, turning to Gwaine, "You were on Earth and you didn't even tell me?"

"Well, you know how it is," Gwaine said, lips quirking in a smile that was more of a smirk, "Places to be, people to shag."

"Spaceships to steal," Merlin added accusingly, waving an arm around to encompass their surroundings. "Where did you get this?"

"Merlin!" Gwaine clutched one hand to his chest and affected a hurt look. "I am wounded that you would assume that I stole her. I won this baby fair and square. Well," he amended, "Square, anyhow. I was playing dice with Mercians, cheating's part of the game."

"Hang on," Arthur said, feeling his headache worsen, with still no coffee in sight. "Merlin, you said it was a million to one shot we got picked up at all. But we got picked up by someone who we both already know. Doesn't that strike you as a bit of a coincidence?"

"He's smart, for an Earthling, isn't he?" Gwaine said, clapping Merlin on the arm. "Cute, too, good choice," he added in a loud whisper and the flush on Merlin's cheeks deepened. Gwaine strode over to a large panel full of flashing lights and small screens with numbers on. "This, my mammalian friends, is what's powering our flight today. The most advanced technology in the galaxy: the Coincidence Core."

"Don't tell me you won that in a dice game as well."

"Well, ah, no. I stole that."

"I know I'm going to regret it if I ask how," Merlin said, frowning at the console. "Am I going to regret it if I ask why?"

"Probably," Gwaine said with an unrepentant shrug. 

"I really need a coffee," Arthur said, more to himself than anyone else. 

Merlin glanced over at him and rolled his eyes.

"Right," he said, turning back to Gwaine. "Any chance you could drop us off at Betelgeuse, then?"

"No can do, I'm afraid. The people I stole this from weren't exactly thrilled about it, if you know what I mean."

"There's a warrant out for your arrest?" Merlin surmised.

"There's a warrant out for my execution, actually. So this is a non-stopping flight."

"Brilliant," Arthur said, throwing his hands up. "Just brilliant. Out of the frying pan into the fire."

"Is he alright?" Gwaine said to Merlin in a loud whisper. "What's he going on about frying pans, for?"

"It's an Earth thing," Merlin explained. "They have a chronic inability to just say what they mean. I had to put up with ten years of this sort of thing. Raining cats and dogs, apples and pears, storms in teacups."

"Teacups," Arthur said, seizing on the word almost hysterically. "Tea would be good. Coffee would be better. Anything."

"That is one weird planet," Gwaine said, shaking his head. 

Arthur thought he might cry. Facing imminent death in his pyjamas while being unable to procure a simple cup of coffee hadn't exactly been how he'd planned to spend the weekend.

"Excuse me, sirs," interrupted George, "But perhaps you would allow me to serve you breakfast?"

Arthur perked up at the mention of the word breakfast and looked over to where a long table laden with food, some of it familiar, some of it really not.

"Could you," he asked the android, very close to begging by this point, "possibly get me a cup of coffee?"

"It would be my pleasure, sir," said George, beaming. "Nothing would make me happier, in fact –"

"Sometime today?" Arthur asked.

"Right away sir, without delay."

There was, of course, a small delay, during which Merlin drifted over to the buffet table and began to stuff himself with various delicacies, occasionally offering delighted exclamations such as,

"Pickled wyvern eggs! I haven't had these for a decade!"

Arthur had always wondered how Merlin always managed to eat so much and yet stay so thin. Extra-terrestrial metabolism, he concluded, was the answer.

The coffee when George brought it over with a flourish and a proclamation of his absolute ecstasy at having had a task to complete, was thin and filmy and not a patch on Arthur's usual cappuccino but it was the best he was likely to get and he drained the cup in no time, half scalding his throat as he gulped it down.

"Better?" Merlin asked him with an amused spark in his eye. He was a fine one to mock, Arthur thought, with jam around his mouth. He spitefully decided not to tell Merlin about the jam. 

Gwaine didn't eat; Arthur wondered if it was something to do with being descended from lizards. Perhaps he preferred flies, or mice or... whatever it was that lizards ate. He decided it would probably be better for his digestion if he didn't think about it too much. 

"Go on then," Merlin said through a mouthful of something suspiciously blue, "You might as well tell us where it is we're headed, since we're stuck here."

"We're looking for Avalon," Gwaine announced with a grin that Arthur was pretty sure could only be described as 'shit-eating'. (In the context of his previous musings on Gwaine's diet, that thought was enough to put him off his breakfast.) "The bigger the coincidence, the closer we're getting. With you two showing up like that, we're definitely getting closer. It's brilliant."

"Right," Arthur said as he drained the dregs of his coffee with a grimace, "This must be some new definition of 'brilliant', with which I'm unfamiliar. Because my planet getting destroyed and getting picked up by some bearded maniac on a quest for a... pirate nightclub, or whatever you're after, isn't my idea of a good time."

"Cheery bastard, aren't you? And Avalon isn't a nightclub. It's a planet."

"Bit of a funny name for a planet, isn't it?"

"Whereas 'Earth' is a really snappy name, huh?"

Arthur glowered at Gwaine. His planet had just been destroyed, after all, he felt he was within his rights to be a little sensitive about it.

"It's true," Merlin nodded. "The planet Avalon is a galactic legend. The planet that builds planets, populated by pan-dimensional beings. Thought by most sane people to be a myth." 

It was just Arthur's luck, of course, that he was not, currently, in the company of sane people. 

 

Just then the ship gave a sudden lurch and Arthur gripped the sides of his chair, hanging on for dear life as the remains of his coffee sloshed over the side of the cup.

"Damn," Gwaine cursed, looking at the monitor before him, half a dozen different lights blinking urgently. "We're being tailed."

There was another lurch, this time accompanied by a loud bang and a high pitched whining sound that was worse than the bang. Arthur had to bite his lips just to make sure the whining sound wasn't coming from him.

"We're hit! George, damage?"

"I'm delighted to tell you, sirs, that we are currently experiencing engine failure."

Merlin rushed to one of the control panels and began pressing buttons furiously.

"We're losing stability."

"Since when do you know the first thing about piloting a spacecraft?" Arthur demanded. "You haven't even passed your driving test!"

"It's surprisingly easy to pick up," Merlin said with a bright smile full of misplaced self confidence. "A bit like playing your Earth game of Mariokart."

"Merlin, you're crap at Mariokart."

They took another hit. The panel in front of Merlin began smoking.

"George, probability of survival?" Gwaine demanded.

"I'm thrilled to tell you it's a whopping nine million to one."

"Fuck."

"Are you aware," Arthur said to George, beginning to feel a little light-headed, "that you sound remarkably like a nineties gameshow host when you do that?"

"I am programmed in over eight hundred thousand forms of communication," George responded, "however I do not know these nineties gameshows of which you speak."

"Mordred," Gwaine cursed frowning at the monitor. "It has to be. The little bastard's been following me since Yavin IV."

"Mordred?" Arthur echoed, as the high-pitched whining sound which was definitely, he decided, coming from the Coincidence Core, grew louder and more insistent. "Funny, another Arthurian name. That's a coincidence."

Gwaine and Merlin turned round to stare at him.

And then everything blew up.

 

(Meanwhile, a few miles above the surface of the planet, a Medieval king found himself suddenly and inexplicably reincarnated as a large sperm whale. His erstwhile advisor simultaneously appeared beside him in the form of a bowl of petunias. 

"Flowers, really?" said the sperm whale. "You are such a girl."

"I have only word to say to you, sire. Blubber."

Unfortunately due to the overwhelming forces of gravity this particular incarnation was brief and – excluding its improbability – uneventful.)

 

Arthur woke with a blinding headache. It was similar in size and intensity to a cocktail-induced hangover, but subtly different in ways which he could now categorise as being caused by crash landing on an alien planet. He allowed himself a moment of surprise that he had actually made it this far alive, and another brief moment of wondering whether he would have been better off dying on Earth with the other seven billion people.

He tried to sit up, realised that he had altogether too many limbs, blinked and saw that not all those limbs were his. For a second he wondered whether some kind of bizarre alien fusion had occurred, a kind of deep-space genetic mutation in an attempt to ensure the survival of the species, albeit in a modified, tentacle form – but then the limbs moved independently and Arthur realised that it was just Merlin. And that was something else that had happened in conjunction with the cocktail-induced hangover more times than he cared to admit.

"Nggh," said Merlin, disentangling himself. "Where are we?"

"Some kind of planet," Arthur told him, looking out across the chalky landscape which bore a striking resemblance to a quarry in Wales. So apparently Doctor Who had got it right all along. "And it appears to have a breathable atmosphere, too. Bit of a lucky co-"

"Don't say it," Merlin groaned, heaving himself up on his elbows. 

 

The chances of this chalky, desolate Welsh-quarry-esque landscape on which they had crash-landed being the legendary planet of Avalon seemed fairly slim. But with the way his day had been going so far, Arthur would have staked everything he had in the world on this indeed being the case. Of course everything he had in the world amounted to the pyjamas and dressing gown he was currently wearing and the odd bit of lint in his left pocket, so it wasn't exactly a high-stakes gamble.

"It's cold," Arthur complained as they picked their way out of the wreckage of the spaceship and out into the sub-zero atmosphere.

"Well done, Arthur," Merlin replied, "If only there was an intergalactic olympics for stating the obvious, you'd be a winner."

"Well, it's a shame there isn't," Arthur hit back, "You could win gold in sarcasm."

(Unbeknownst to either, there was in fact a galactic olympics featuring both of these events, but as the reigning champion in stating the obvious had held the title for the past three centuries, it was unlikely that Arthur would have had a chance. Similarly, the galactic record for sarcasm was held by a race of extremely sarcastic beings from the planet Rancor.)

"Here we go, lads," Gwaine called, coming to a halt in front of the mouth of a cave.

"In there? You want us to go in there?"

"You just don't stop complaining, do you, Earthman?" Gwaine said, unconcerned as he charged into the tunnel. Merlin turned to Arthur, arms folded across his shivering form, the tips of his ears a frost-bitten pink.

"Well, have you got any better ideas?" he demanded. Arthur stopped to consider. He had some other ideas, but as they all seemed likely to end in certain frosty death, he couldn't in all honesty categorise them as 'better'. He shook his head and followed Gwaine into the tunnel. At least if they were all going to die they could do it somewhere warm. 

 

Warm was overrated, Arthur decided, holding his breath as he was snuffled at by some kind of large, smelly, hot-breathed alien creature that resembled a giant naked mole rat. With tusks. It didn't help that his skin was currently smeared in grey berries that Merlin's infernal Guide said would help disguise his scent and confuse the Wilderen (although he hadn't gotten a proper look at the entry in question and couldn't be completely sure that Merlin wasn't just making this up in revenge for Arthur's constant complaining). 

He emerged from the tunnel network, alive but increasingly despondent about that fact, face covered in slime. Merlin, still irritatingly chipper, undid his neckerchief and reached over to wipe the alien saliva from Arthur's face, like a mother wiping sticky jam from her child's face. Arthur's manly pride bristled at the unsolicited action, not least because Merlin being proven right about the neckerchief's usefulness in any capacity whatsoever rankled somewhat.

Gwaine charged ahead into the underground cavern, Merlin and Arthur hanging back a little. At first it appeared deserted, but through the gloom, Arthur could make out the improbable figure of an elderly man in some sort of robe, fussing with a stack of papers at a desk. 

"Now where did I put... Ah! Customers!" He adjusted the spectacles on the end of his nose and peered at them. "Dear me, I haven't had any customers in milennia. Do sit down."

After a brief exchange of glances the three of them did as they were bid and the chairs practically sighed as they sank into them. "My name is Gaius. What can I do for you?"

"Is this really it?" Gwaine asked excitedly, "The legendary planet of Avalon?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Bespoke planets for all tastes and purposes."

"You build _planets_?" Arthur asked, incredulous. "But how... how do they _fit_?"

"Oh, that's just physics," Gaius said waving a dismissive hand. "I don't really have anything to do with that side of things. I'm just the designer. Gardens, those are my favourites," he said, a small wistful smile creeping over his face. "You wouldn't happen to be looking for gardens, would you?"

"Sure, throw a couple of those in," Gwaine said, leaning back in his chair, which gave an appreciative noise. "And a few hundred of these chairs, while you're at it."

"Gardens, good, chairs, excellent," Gaius scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I don't mean to be crass, but you can afford this, can't you? Custom built planets aren't cheap and with the way the Galactic Economy's been going recently, several centuries of recession..."

 

Ordering a bespoke planet was quite a time-consuming affair, Arthur soon discovered, as Gwaine went into specifics about the exact temperature of the water in the hot springs he wanted to have, and the exact chest measurements of the girls he wanted to share the hot springs with. It was interminable, reminiscent of the time he and Gwen had gone to B&Q to order a new kitchen and he'd found his attention wandering somewhere between the choice of three equally grey granite work surfaces and the selection of cutlery drawers. Gwen had elbowed him sharply in the ribs and hissed at him, "Honestly, Arthur, it's like you're on another bloody planet sometimes." 

And now here he was on another bloody planet, and it was the same thing all over again.

The thought of it made him stupidly homesick. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that. He missed Earth, missed stupid slightly rubbish things like cutlery drawers, reality TV and the 6.24 commute, ham salad baguettes and decent bloody coffee. 

He wandered away from Gwaine and Gaius and up to a glass panel in the cave wall that might have been an attempt at a window but in the dim light of the cave only reflected his own face back at him. The makeshift mirror rippled and Arthur saw Merlin approach and lean on the wall next to him. Arthur gave him a weak smile. However much they might have been getting on one another's nerves, at least there was something comforting about Merlin's presence. 

"Alright?" Merlin asked.

"Look at me," Arthur sighed, glaring at himself. "The last human. Everybody who ever knew and loved me is dead. What is the point of me exactly?"

"Arthur you – you absolute bloody _arse_!" Merlin snapped. "You self-absorbed, blind _dollop-head._ Did you ever stop to think, ever ask yourself why, out of seven billion people on that miserable little planet of yours, why I chose _you_?"

Arthur blinked at him, taken aback.

"Well I'll tell you something," Merlin continued, looking more defeated now than angry, mouth pressed into a long unhappy line. "It wasn't bloody coincidence."

Merlin turned and walked away. Arthur gaped stupidly after him, as his words took their time to sink in. 

"Oh," Arthur said, beginning to suspect that he had been extraordinarily stupid. He set out to redress the balance by doing the only sensible thing he could think of. He scrambled after him. "Merlin!"

"Do you know," Merlin began without turning to look at him, "what the Guide has to say about love?"

"It's a many-splendoured thing?" Arthur ventured. "It's all you need? It lifts us up where we belong? You should stop in the name of it?"

"Arthur!" Merlin remonstrated, lips quirking into a half-smile, all the same. "It says, 'avoid, at all costs'. That's all. Although there is an entire sub-section devoted to love under the chapter on insanity."

"Ah. Well," Arthur said, "sanity's overrated, anyway. Surely it's better to be insane than to be miserable."

"I don't think the two are mutually exclusive, unfortunately."

There were a few beats of silence. Arthur's not very highly evolved brain strugged to reassess the entire history of their friendship.

"You mean you... all this time... with me?"

"No accounting for taste, huh?"

"Merlin, I --"

Whatever Arthur had been about to say was lost as they were interrupted by a voice. Which was perhaps just as well, because Arthur himself had no idea what it would have been; although he suddenly found he would dearly like to have found out. 

 

The voice in question was deep and gravelly and did not appear to be attached to any physical presence. Arthur recalled Gwaine's comment about pan dimensional beings. But with a rush of air and the unmistakable sound of beating wings, a large creature appeared in front of the two men.

Being stared down by a dragon was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of Arthur's life thus far. Its cold yellow eyes looked him dismissively up and down and clearly found him wanting. It reminded Arthur unaccountably of an audience with his father. 

"Small and insignificant mammaloid," it addressed him. "From where have you travelled?"

"Earth," Arthur said, hoping his voice didn't sound too small and insignificant, although he supposed there wasn't much he could do about the mammal aspect.

"Ah, yes," the dragon moved his large scaly head from side to side, slow and with visible disappointment. "Under the jurisdiction of the Komodos. I knew they weren't ready for the responsibility."

"Komodo... dragons?" Arthur asked, incredulously.

"Of course. You don't think we build planets and then just leave them to the devices of lesser creatures? Imagine the insurance premiums."

"Um..."

"But we are not here to discuss your old planet. Albion awaits."

"I'm sorry," Arthur interjected, "Albion?"

"Your new planet."

"There's been some mistake. I haven't come here to order a new planet. I'm just a hitchhiker. I think you've got me confused with Gwaine. This is all wrong."

"There is no right and no wrong, only what is and what is not. Albion is meant for you, Arthur Pendragon. Did you think your name was a coincidence?"

Arthur shivered.

"Maybe? There's an awful lot of that going about. There could be any number of Arthurs hitchhiking around the galaxy. I certainly can't afford... Look," he said, holding his hands out palm-upwards, "I haven't even got a _shoes_..."

"That is of no significance," the dragon huffed dismissively. "Humanoid footwear can easily be assembled."

"That really isn't... I mean, why me?"

"You survived the destruction of your planet, Pendragon. You are clearly a prime specimen of your species. You will lead them."

"But, look, no offence but... I'm not some kind of dragon. That's just my name. I manage twenty-five members of staff in an office environment, I don't think that exactly qualifies me to lead a planet. Escaping Earth... that was more a combination of dumb luck. Well, dumb luck and Merlin."

"Well, then you had better take dumb luck and Merlin with you, hadn't you? The king must have his closest advisor by his side."

Arthur turned to Merlin, a shaky grin on his face.

"So, brand new planet, how about it?" 

"As long as you're not expecting me to help you repopulate it. There's a few things I'm going to have to explain to you about Ealdorian physiognomy, but I can assure you that's not one of them."

"Merlin..."

"You know I'd follow you to the end of the universe, don't you?" Merlin said, all in a rush, suddenly serious. His cheeks were pink and his neckerchief slightly askew. 

Arthur looked at him and realised quite suddenly that it was impossible to contemplate his continued existence without him. Dimly, he registered that it really shouldn't have taken the destruction of Earth and a madcap dash across half the galaxy for him to come to this conclusion. 

After all, Merlin had been right there all along. 

Arthur held out his hand.

Albion awaited.


End file.
